


Practice

by NomMunch0



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NomMunch0/pseuds/NomMunch0
Summary: I feel ready to write and practice
Kudos: 2





	1. Can't do it right

_I'm so sorry._

_I'm sorry I couldn't be who you wanted me to be._

A male with hair as mixed as autumn, glistening, purple eyes is propping his head with his fist. He bites his bottom lip to seal a desperate whimper and an increasing ache in his head is present.

"-Yet you've decided to humiliate your brother." The man facing away from him across the room spoke in a disappointing tone. His hair is a lighter colour, strong structures along his cheeks. He spins in place to face the younger male, "What do you have to say about that?"

"Sorry..."

"That's all? 'sorry'?" The stern voice is haunting his mind once it reaches his ears.

"Well... When I tell you-"

"I didn't ask to talk about me. We are talking about your brother. Don't you have the slightest bit of shame for causing a disaster to your brother's party?"

The younger of the two merely glanced away. With a click of a tongue, the stern individual trodded away out the door.

The sound of the door slamming was relief for the male sitting in a chair. It always told him that the door was truly shut, that no one can peek through.

He melts onto the table, pressing his cheek to his purple stained sleeve. As he observes the painting of his brother's joy, integrated into the canvas.

"You're always the star huh." His lazy lips muster a mumble. "I was trying to help too." He averts his eyes from the painting, "but... Who'd ever listen to me...? I'm just a pathetic backup who can't do anything right."

A knock at the door.

The male with autumn coloured hair jerks up in his seat then quickly wipes his stained sleeve to his eyes. It lowers before the door swung open.


	2. part 2

He looked up to see his brother peering from the doorway. The hazy, soft lighting from the window compliments the brother's appearance as everything does.

"I just saw the old man pass by." The male with autumn hair simply huffs through his nose as his eyes lower to the ground.

"Look, I'm sorry about the party... I-"

"No worries man!" The cheery brother waves his hand dismissively with a smile. "To be honest, I think you did me a favour. The old man's been on my ass about making this party perfect." He smiles bashfully, "It was kind of stressful..."

The calmer of the two merely focused on the dark, red carpet. A hand plops itself on his shoulder. He looks up to his cheery brother with a question etched in his expression.

"Whatever crazy stunt you pulled, thanks dude. Truly." The other hand is placed on the other shoulder. "And hey, let's both do some crazy stuff to make this party worth rememberin' hm?" A sly smirk snuck its way onto his facial features as the autumn haired male darts his eyes side to side rapidly.

"Uh-" He manages to utter with guilt rattling in his voice. This earned a light massage on his shoulders.

"Relax, I won't get ya in trouble." A childish smile forms. "You're too much of a goodie two shoes to handle it ahaha!"

With a reluctant smile, the calm brother nodded once before rising from his chair. He wipes his eyes.

"Wait were you crying earlier?"

"No, I just yawned."

"No you didn't."

"Before you got into this room."

"You're such a bad liar, come here." He outstretches his arms to engulf his brother.

"No, it's okay! Really!" These words did nothing, now he's wrapped in a comfortable embrace.

"Yup, everything's alright." He says soothingly with a pat on the back.


	3. writing exercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: There is a beautiful statue of a person in the middle of a large city, and the rumour surrounding the statue is that when they touch hands with their soulmate, they will become human. Naturally, it becomes a perfect photo and video opportunity to pose while holding its hand.
> 
> One cute selfie attempt results in an empty statue podium and you just barely catching a very confused person in your arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished

"Why don't you ditch your house of sculptures? It's going to bury you at the rate you're going." The sarcastic male on my left broke the silence I've always enjoyed. I continue to prick and chip away at mouldable clay with my razor. Anything less than precision and focus, I'd restart all over again. "Hey, come on." A hand pats my right shoulder.

"Give me a second." I mutter quickly, fearing that he might ruin my well-deserved work. A swift move, and now my blade is gone. "Give it back!" I snap to the black hair male on my left. He smirks down at me, holding the tool between his thumb and index, just to provoke me to react as usual. I rose to my feet and lunge at him but he takes a calm step aside.

"Not unless you escape this weird prison you set up for yourself." His soothing voice trailed with his fluid motions as he gestures my cramped room overflowing with hardened clay statues of all shapes, sizes and materials. Plenty of paper schematics layered over the ground that not even a speck of dark, blue carpeting could pierce through. I lifted myself to my feet, brushing off any potential dust from my artist smock. "Do I have to lock you out of your own room?" His reverberating voice numbs my train of thought. After a sigh, I shook my head and oblige. He puts away the razor onto the desk I was working on. "Let's head out now."

"Wait, I need to clean up my room and change my clothes."

"That'll take too long," The black-haired male took my hands in his ghostly pale ones, "now let's go." He eagerly drags me out of my own home while my feet are bare and he keeps socks on.

"Shoes! Shoes please!" He clicks his tongue in annoyance. We both put on footwear before heading out of this small, cozy home.

"Sometimes you're a hassle." He shook his head.

"Then don't drag me out of my errands!"

"Those are requests and whenever you finish one, you always have another."

"Not my fault that my work is so popular with intricate details!" The warm breeze from the mix of the wind and the dark, pink sun was pleasant over my orange head. There's always a soft, pink hue in the air. Almost like a very bright, pink spotlight illuminating the entire town. The stone path we both tread on glistens slightly with specks of shiny white light as if it were diamond particles. "Where are we? I don't recognize this path." I cautiously survey the area where houses clump together and tower higher and higher like a modern jungle.

"Glad you asked, Toothy." I grimace at the nickname he gave me from a few weeks ago when he gave me a weird potion that felt like my teeth were constantly growing, but the recipe used was misinterpreted. Nothing bad happened other than being deathly ill for the next three days. "I've got some friends of mine I want you to meet."

Arriving in what appears to be the center of this town, a statue of a young man with a crown on his head and a king's cape draped over his shoulders encased in black and white marble. A rise of murmurs flooding my senses as I became aware of the strange citizens roaming the markets nearby.

"Recognize anything?" My friend gestures to the young prince statue who is balancing on one foot, leaning forward, frozen in an impossible pose.

"Y-yeah..." I'm hypnotized by this young prince's features. "Just this." This statue. The only thing I liked about this town. The intricate details of his facials features, to each lock of hair, the folds of the clothing, everything about this statue is all I ever aim for when I sculpt my statues. Every time I stare at a terribly made sculpture I made, I always remember that there's someone who made this magnificent statue. That's who I want to be. The one who can replicate this eye-catching figure. Whenever I tried, the clay always toppled over, somehow this large marble prince cannot falter while all my tiny ones do despite the method.

"Did you know they made a theory about this guy?"

"What??! Tell me!" I hollered desperately. He chuckles at my response before patting my head, earning a pout from me from annoyance. "Stoooop it"

"Sorry, sorry," He grins widely, "you're just so small."

"Just tell meee!"

"So, from what my friends say, this guy is probably some Leecher."

"A Leecher?"

"You read so many books on him that you don't know what's a Leecher?"

"I read up about what this statue is made of! Not some boring creature."

"A Leecher," emphasis on that name, "is a master of deception. They absorb parts of your life in order to improve their own." He looks up to the confused smiling statue that's held up from impossible balance.

"You been waitin long?" I heard behind me. I turn to see a grungy female with short hair and a black marking on her cheek as if it were a tattoo.

"Glad you could make it!" My friend welcomes her with open arms. He glances to me, "She's-"

"My soulmate." She interrupts.

"Hey let's not be hasty haha! But yeah, we're going to find out if we are."


	4. writing exercise 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing prompt:
> 
> Your parents have always been protective of you for as long as you could remember. The entire house was padded even when you grew out of your toddler years. You were homeshooled and someone was always hovering to make sure you don't trip or hurt yourself. You thought this was them being irrationally overprotective until one winter day, your hands were so dry that your skin broke. A drog of blood fell to the ground and almost instantly, red flowers bloomed where it landed.

It's all puffy, not my hands. My hands are scrambling to contain an overflow of blooming red flowers that keep escaping each bind I wrap over the cut. It's as if a time-lapse of a flower growing to full bloom were playing right before me. Red, soft petals shed from the bundle of flowers building from the cut on my fleshy palm. _This isn't supposed to happen. This is supposed to be bleeding? Why am I growing flowers in my hand? Am I on my way to become a magician?_

The gentle petals drift onto the snow, slowly creating a bed of it around me. _How is this supposed to be contained if it keeps building up? What do I do? I never experienced this because I've always been holed away from this..._

The red flowers in my palm feel warm. The heat radiates only in my hands. Trapped by my phalanges like a clam unwilling to let go of its prey.

I look around me, a wisp of chilly air slither out of my breath and expand out into the scene around me. I only see pine trees obscuring my path. My whole journey so far was merely stacks of pines standing near as if they planned to ambush me any second now. Looking behind me, my footprints that were made are being distorted by the gentle snow that twirls from the sky onto the surrounding snow.

I sharply sniffle to prevent my nose from drooling. The skin on my cheeks and the rise to the tip of my nose feels tight, almost as if I were growing or my skin decided I'm no longer fit to wear it. My lips are chapped from breathing through my mouth since my dry nose is tough to respire from.

I proceed to travel where I believe is my safe space, my haven, is. I remember something again. _Wait, it's just another vision, it feels different from a memory. There's no nostalgia._ I lower my eyelids, allowing my sight to be engulfed in a somewhat dark view. All I can see are colourful dots like the static of an old tv but more transparent in the black darkness. Sort of like flickering polka dots forming patterns. A bit of pressure on my forehead is present but it's nothing to worry about based on experience.

"Wh-" I can hear my visions as if I were remembering them or in the middle of an entrancing dream. Sometimes it's hard to remember what they say, so I focus on their actions and my feelings in that vision. It's hard to explain it to someone but the best way I can ever describe any of my experiences is a dream. It probably is, yet it would happen in real life.

I see a girl I know with brown, slightly curly hair flowing into a ponytail. She is shorter than me, the top of her head reaches midway of my chest. Next, she drags me by my arm-

I topple forward from the sensation and the daze I was in. It was like she actually pulled me from the vision. I look down on my arms, my left palm still spills red petals. I clench my fist and stuff it into the pocket of my jacket. My frozen hands are starting to turn white. I drag my weight through the growing snow. The inside of my nostrils are starting to harden with each inhale, almost like icicles clawing in yet using my oxygen as coverage.

After countless amounts of time of being lost in the snowy wilderness, I finally found the wooden house. Just looking at it through flakes of snow at my eyes from my scarf accumulating it, I could already imagine myself warming up by the crispy fire. With a hot beverage to buzz my fingers and hands with warmth-...

 _My hand is still bleeding._ I reminded myself then picked up the pace and increased my efforts.


	5. Bro sleepover heart to heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE PLAN:
> 
> Canada and America are supposed to be in bed by now. Canada didn't think it was a big deal for America to go to bed but then finds out it was because America gets bad nightmares. Canada takes care of him a bit, America complains how he isnt a kid yet ironically acts like one. Canada gets passive aggressive and then they both poke fun at the situation.
> 
> They share interests then reveals some stuff about Canada and then America is surprised but then Canada gets all sassy. They kinda get into a squabble and then America changes the subject quickly about England. Canada is forced to answer the question.
> 
> The next morning, Canada gives America some pancakes/ free breakfast. America is happy, not complaining but asking why as he eats. Canada apologizes for the fight. America reassures him and promises to get Canada some hockey equipment now.
> 
> ========  
> This script is written by a Canadian and it's dedicated to the people whose comfort character is Canada and America.
> 
> Credit to: @Nyantalia (twitter)  
> For proof reading and making alterations to make America even more in character (Also the title belongs to her)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plushie = plushy = Stuffie = Soft toy
> 
> The meaning with the symbols:
> 
> (Thought process / internal dialogue)
> 
> [Tone / expression of the character's voice]
> 
> *The action the character is performing / otherwise the general atmosphere*

*Canada and America are playing video games*

Canada: *Looks at the time* It's 2 am??!

America: [Unbothered] Yeah that's fine The night's just begun. *continues to play*

Canada: *gets up* No, move your ass.

America: Hey!! *grabby hands* give it back!! if you want to sleep, go ahead. I won’t stop you, but I’m staying up. [continues playing]

Canada: No, my house. My rules. *Grabs controller*

America: [Emotionally tired of this] *dramatic sigh* You know, sometimes you act JUST like the old man

Canada: I don't want to be bushy brows, but I guess I have to. If you want to leave-

America: NO DUDE HOLD ON PLEASE LET ME STAY

Canada: ...

America: Dude, Iggs doesn't know I'm even here... AND his freaky voodoo magic can’t find me here. HAHAHA!

Canada: Kay. Bedtime. *gestures other bedroom*

===============

America: *Loud yelp*

Canada: *busts open the door into the messy room*

America: *Stumbles backwards, falling with the chair*

Canada: What happened?? *Clutching a hockey stick*

America:

*curled up a bit and lookin towards the window near the bed* ok dude im not tripping but listen so there i was about to get my sleep game on when suddenly I saw a figure cast a shadow at the window. and me being a TOTALLY NOT AFRAID hero got out of bed and went to investigate when suddenly I saw him. THERE HE WAS. Santa Clause.

Canada: *Skeptical/ disappointment* wh-

America: [continuing] homie probably figured out that I signed my name onto the nice list at the mall when he wasn't lookin- now he's back for vengeance!!

Canada: Dude. [exhausted] Just get to bed please?

America: ok dude im not tripping but listen so there i was about to get my sleep game on when suddenly i saw a figure cast a shadow at the window. and me being a TOTALLY NOT AFRAID hero got out of bed and went to investigate when suddenly I saw him. THERE HE WAS. Santa Clause

===========

Canada: *starting to close the door, peeking into the room* I'm not missing anything else?

America: *in bed* I dunno.

Canada: okay *Leaving*

America: Hey wait wait!

Canada: Hm?

America: Could... Could you stay here for a bit?

Canada: ...

America: [crosses arms] Haha, nevermind!! I was just kidding—forget I said anything!!

Canada: *Enter the room and grabs the chair to sit next to America* Just for a bit, then go to sleep.

America: *Widens eyes with shock*

*Silence*

Canada: So... What did you want to talk about?

America: Nothin really.

Canada: *Narrows eyes a bit in irritation* Seriously...

*Realization* Is it that you're having nightmares again?

America: I told you it was the creepy santa that-

Canada: *Ignoring him* So it is!

[Lightly teasing] Did you want your favourite stuffie?

America:[Denial] NO!! PSHHH—I have nooo idea what you’re talking about HAHAHAH *face turning red* And even if I DID I’m not. A little kid who needs some stuffed animal to cuddle!! Nope!! Not me!!!!!

[Shyly] D-do you still have it?

Canada: I do, actually.

America: ...

Canada: Want her back?

America: *Glances elsewhere* ....

Canada: *Goes to leave*

America: Wait! Where are you going??

Canada: *left*

America: *Pouts* 

Canada: *Returns with a bunny plush and hands it to him*

America: SPARKLES *Grabs the plush that has a faint glimmer to it and hugs it*

*Holdin up the plush to look at it* Can't believe you're still sparkly

Canada: *Checks time* It's late...

*Tucks America in* [Sing songy] Go to sleeeeep, gooo to sleeeeep~

America: [pouts] M’not a little kid you know...

Canada: *Rolls eyes a bit* Come on, you never minded when Mr. Eyebrows did that.

America: [Kind of whining] It’s only cause anything is better than his boring counting to sleep

Canada: [Complaining] Oh and when I do it, you just talk over me!

America: Not all the time

Canada: Of course you do! Not only talk over me but you also treat me like I know nothing

America: [fake shocked gasp] When did I ever do that?

Canada: This afternoon when you pointed out all the games I have in my own home.

America: Hey, those games are classics! They deserve to be announced!

Canada: So you're sayin' you're jealous of my collection

America: Dunno, what I do know is you're jealous that I get gaming consoles from Japan before you

Canada: Yeah yeah sure.

America: I mean at least you ACTUALLY game, unlike the old man

Canada: *slightly scoffs* I bet it'd be funny if we introduced him to a game.

America: Oh god, he'll be all like,

[Imitating England] " _How do I shoot? How do I drink my tea? Is there a control to scratch my butt?_ "

Canada: *chuckles*

[Playing along with this/ imitates England] " _Where ar' you guys? M' back hurts, take cah-re of the bad guys will you?_ "

America: *Laughs a bit*

[Normal voice] Iggs- Iggs- the enemies are right _there_ _!!_ You had one job

Canada: [Normal voice] Yeah, we told you to tag along with us, oh god you're across the map-

America: *A growing laughter* Man, I bet he'll be so lost *Shakes head dismissively with a smile*

Canada: *Yawns* Yeah, we should really call him up for a game.

America: But isn't he _always sooooo busy?_

Canada: [calm] Hm, nah. He kinda just... *bites lip*

[confident] Trust me, he is just too shy to approach us.

America: [Slightly grumpy] hrm...

Canada: You'll see. Are you feelin better now?

America: [hesitant] I am

Canada: *Sits down* Alright, go ahead and sleep.

*Holding hockey stick with a smirk* [Triumph] I'll be right here ready to beat up any wiggle wormies! 

America: *Internally coils in embarassment* God- dont remind me ahaha

Canada: *Goes on my phone*

America: *Eventually drifts to sleep*

======================

[BONUS]

America: *Wakes up and heads out of the bedroom*

*Emerges out of the bathroom and sees Canada placed sunny side up eggs on toast with bacon on dining table*

[Groggy] Hey broski how did you wake up before me..?

Canada: Coffee. -and I also remember you chill in bed until 9 *glances at the clock*

Clock: 9:22 am

America: Why do you know this...?

Canada: *chuckles to self* One time, when it was your birthday I wanted to surprise you right when you leave your bedroom with a present. But I had to wait for too long that I went to help England with his garden work. When I came back you weren't in bed anymore.

America: Dude, if you just woke me up I think I wouldn't mind

Canada: Nah, you were just as happy when I gave it to you in the middle of the night. *Almost snickering* Except Iggy was pissed.

America: Oh yeah, man that was the best night of my life *sits at the food*

Canada: *eyes widen* Really? I thought you'd forget that by now...

America: No way! I still have it sitting on my desk back home, man *nom nom food*

Canada: Oh yeah, after a bit of thought... I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have let my anger take over.

America: [Mouth full] No worries dUde-

Canada: *Visible discomfort at this* [unenthusiastic] Right.

America: *gulps food* Hey, you needed new hockey thingies right? Let's go to the store after I eat

Canada: *Nervous chuckle* You don't have to

America: No no, come on man! You were complaining about it the other time

Canada: When-

America: You called me but I didn't pick up, so when I opened the voice message you were swearing a lot in weird french and english and somethin about hockey broke, so you couldn't play

Canada: *baffled* I didn't-

*Realization* WAIT NO I MEANT TO SEND THAT TO MY TEAMMATE- *Facepalm*

[Embarrassed/ frustrated] I didn't mean to... 

America: For this delicious breakfast, which you didn't have to, AND for being such a great bro! Lookin out for me, I'll get you what you need! Let's go! *Drags Canada to the door*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where ar' you guys? M' back hurts, take cah-re of the bad guys will you" = "Where are you guys? My back hurts, take care of the bad guys will you"  
> ====================
> 
> "his boring counting to sleep" is referencing the Good Night with America and England, where they would count sheep for the other person until they slept.
> 
> I like making Canada say: "Is it that [Insert question]??" because in french it'd be "Est-ce que [question]??"  
> Same with, "For what reason- [question]"/ "Which reason made you wanna [question]?" rather than "why would [question]" (<>)
> 
> Canada is just a mix of American slang with some French mindset and uses English writing.


	6. No title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will have Canada (hetalia) suffering because im in a bad mood. No matter how much i simp for him, it'll make me feel better for him to have character development.

_I'm overreacting, aren't I?_ I run my fingers through my blonde locks that have a hint of orange. Pausing my movements to lean my forehead into my palm. The cold surface of a marble table sharing its temperature with my elbow pressed from the weight of my head.

A buzzing from my phone interrupts my thoughts. I open my eyes and gaze down at it. The phone facing up from the table, before me. The display message says, "nah". _Wait what does that mean?_ Lifting my phone that is snuggled in the red protective casing, I open the message. It was only my online friend who hasn't answered me for the past 4 days.

I grit my teeth as I view the conversation;

" _Hey, I wasn't so happy about your post, is it okay if you remove it?_ " I asked this a few days ago. Yet, I'm met with, " _nah_ ".

My thumbs begin to dance over the screen before sending another message. " _Sorry could I know why? did i do something wrong?_ "

Right after that sent, my entire screen swapped into an alarm clock. I stood up hastily and head out. I'm supposed to be meeting up with some of the other nations at a mall because it's a rare time that we all have the same day off. However, I'm on time, yet the others aren't.

They forgot I existed... Well, that's not a surprise. I lower my eyes to the polished tiles before moving forth into the mall to purchase the hockey equipment I need and to check if a certain game got restocked. I have a hockey game that takes place some time tomorrow in the afternoon and had put off buying new equipment for a few months even when the fabrics were clearly tearing. Just last month it suddenly snapped open and I toppled forward. I wasn't allowed to practice unless I get new skates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nvm my mood subsided after typing this, but it was really fun


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Psychopath Protagonist
> 
> I mean, not how i'd phrase it but I'd assume it'd be more of a character that people would prefer not like to meet.

// Alcohol , public indecency

I'm looking around inside this bus, I hear that it's boring. I don't see how it ever is, it's the idea that you can tell what a person is thinking just by looking at them. From their clothes, to their hair, to their hands, to the slight creases formed from their eyebrows and so much more. I never understood what some people say. The same ones I listen to when I'm working at the Cotton Fire bar. Those people always blabber their lives there, it may seem annoying to others for whatever reason but I think listening to someone's life is interesting. It may seem depressing almost all the time but that's the fun part. I can smile because I'm not them. I can avoid their mistakes if I just give it a listen.

I snap out of my daze, my attention caught by a child tripping. I huff slightly. This stupid kid doesn't bother to hold the provided rails around them. Merely struggling to regain balance from the shaky trip the bus is causing. No one else is seeing this play out like I am. I gaze among the crowd of people in search of what could be the kid's parents. I'm only met with people's backs and heads obscuring each other, I can't tell the resemblances of the little one with any adults. Once more, looking back to the infant, I shrug it off. This isn't my child, if anything happens to them, it isn't my problem. It's the parent's problem.

I direct my attention to an older man. He seems much older than me. Large, orangey-red beard that seems very mangled. A large, round belly protruding outwards, tarped over with a dark red shirt, tucked into a barely visible black belt. I assume he can't reach the end of his own stomach if he tried. He looks like someone on his way to go shopping. His hair is greasy, messy. Sunken eyes. He has some dark sauce on his beard, he clearly didn't check before leaving his home. He's sitting on a seat a few feet away from me. I can observe him as he's focused on his phone. The screen is somewhat dark, I can spot plenty of dried up spots on the surface. It looks as if he puts no effort in his life.

My lips curl in amusement. I've at least made the effort to touch up my hair before heading out, to make sure my clothes are as clean as anyone would prefer. I pull out my phone to check if I received any messages. My phone is usually always clean. When I have the time, I make sure to use a fresh cloth to wipe away anything my phone screen might've caught.

I look over to the window, leaning forward due to someone covering it with their entire being. I check other windows to be able to spot where I am. I get a glimpse of the bar I work at, which I automatically click the button to indicate to stop the bus. I slung my bag over my shoulder and make my way to the front of the bus. I don't care for the complaints of the others on how I've gone about leaving. They made me late, now I can shove them aside. They deserve that much, they should be glad I'm not out to fight them. As I walk past, the child from earlier who clearly has been weeping silently has clung to my leg.

I rose an eyebrow to them, I'm feeling impatient and pressed for time. The upcoming stop is approaching, I have no time to handle this kid. It's either risking my paycheck to reduce because of the other times I've been late or just tell some pathetic adult to take care of their clumsy kid.

"Let me come with you..." The kid pleas with teary eyes and a quivering voice.

"No." I moderately kick aside this kid. Their parents should be here, I don't need any pointless issues to deal with. I head out but before I could step out the door, the clingy kid grabs onto my leg once more. This is bothering me, I ironed my dark pants this morning for work, not to have this kid smear their disgusting snot over. "Driver," I snap at the bus driver, "this kid isn't mine."

The driver tells the kid to stay at the front near her. I pay no more attention and head off to my workplace. I have a quick look at the time on my wrist and hurries to the Cotton Fire bar. I'm 5 minutes late because of the crowded bus. I wasn't able to see anything with their large figures hiding the windows, it was all unnecessary as well. They were on their phone, some were leaning on the window, others were leaning forward. If I wasn't in a rush for work, I would've pressed them further to move so that I could see where I am.

Pulling the door to enter, I'm met with a wine bottle thrown in my direction. I barely dodge it and it hit my cheekbone before smashing along the pavement. Peering in the bar, there's a female. Clearly had too much to drink. Her dark, brown hair draped over her shoulders. She's standing on the tables and yelling at everyone. Her skimpy clothing are wrinkled more than it should, making it seem more revealing.

I proceed to the backroom to change into my work clothes. Carefully folding my outdoor clothing. I notice glistening liquid on my pants. I scowl with distaste and went to clean it up with a napkin. It didn't do too much, meaning I'd have to clean it when I get home. Closing the locker that I placed my bag and clothes in, I return to the main room where the deranged lady is still arguing with anyone approaching her.

"Sarish," I notice my boss approaching me. He's shorter than me, kind of pudgy. Almost like inflated dough. "Go take care of this client." He nods over to the woman who's practically shrieking. I'm able to feel my ears tingle from the noise of her terrible voice and the music the bar normally has.

"Sure" I mutter. He didn't seem to notice since he went back to tending to the other customers. I smooth out my uniform, tugging my upper clothing down. It's all smooth from the ironing last night. My white sleeves hug my wrists, with a bit of leeway. My black vest, pants and shoes clean to the touch. All of it complimenting my black hair that is combed aside, carefully right before leaving the backroom. I stood by this woman. Her skirt starting to reveal silky undergarments, her shirt is so thin that it tore a bit from the shoulders. Her makeup is ghastly to view. She notices me and crouches down on the table she stands.

"Heyyyyy there hottie" Her slurred voice is trailed with the whiff of alcohol. Her hazel eyes complement her silky, hazelnut hair. She scans me up and down. I feel indifferent to her confidence, it's only going to fade in the morning. Her giggles were dancing around my ears as she slowly rises from her position. She pauses where her hands are placed on her thighs comfortably, her loose shirt is hanging. She's not wearing a bra. I stare into her eyes. "you're pretty cute~ ha-hah- ha-ow how bout we- erm" her smile is confident, seductive but it won't do much for me.

"Please get down." I commanded without interest.

"Okayyy captain~" She sits on the table to slide off of it, now her skirt is stuck not covering her undergarments. Her obliviousness is not worth my time, I head over to the bar and ask my co-worker to call her a cab. "Heeeyyyy come back here~ don't you wanna talk to me?" I paid no mind to her, she tries to get in my face and attempts to seduce me in whatever she feels is necessary.

I was told that her ride is arriving in 30 minutes. I'd much rather serve other customers their drinks, yet the manager told me to deal with her. She's giggly in front of me on the other side of the bar. She's always following me whether I pay attention to her or not. She drinks her cocktail with a wink in my direction, she seems bothered that I barely spoke to her.

I'm standing by, apparently being paid to babysit this grown woman who has no shred of decency. She is still very revealing. I busy myself washing used cups, I hardly get through my 3rd cup before she starts bickering me to serve her more drinks.

"I think you've had enough to drink." I start.

"Nahhh not at all, gimme another"

"You're not having another."

"Awww then what will I do?" She didn't seem upset, more playful if anything. Her head tilted to the side, she's looking up to me. "Will you keep me company~?" I took a moment to pause. I thought about it.

"No." I continue to fill up the ice trays for my co-workers to be able to use for their drinks.

"COME ON, LET ME LOVE YOU" I drown out the sound of her pleas with running water, the clatter of ice, the clinks of bottles bumping into each other as it returns to its original places.

"Hey!" My manager is next to me as I clean up and sort through the cups. "What are you doing?" His stern voice seems like it's trying to intimidate me.

"Cleaning. Something wrong with that?"

"You were supposed to look after that woman, now she's bothering the other clients with her antics."

"Oh, that's sad to hear." My apathy is very apparent. "She'll probably end up in a dump after tonight." I shrug off the issue. He grabs my shoulder roughly to have me face him.

"You're going out there to deal with her. She's gotta go." I look down at him with a skeptical expression.

"yeah? Why can't anyone else do it? Sarah's got plenty of time on her hands, Riddy is barely doing shit too, I keep seeing Neio chatting up a storm with some strangers too."

"You're the only one who can calm her down and keep her out of trouble. The others have tried right before you got here. She was yelling and screaming if we did anything. You literally told her to get down and she did without a complaint. That's some gift you got."

"Gifts are fun aren't they." I place the cups in their designated spots and moved on to cleaning a handful of muddling spoons.

"What?" The confusion is obvious in his tone. "Look, just go keep her out of trouble."

"What's in it for me? I'm being paid to serve drinks, not babysit. I'm not going to give her any drinks either."

"No, you're not getting anything, this is a matter of whether the bar gets to keep more clients or not in the future because of that wack job" After that, it was only silence. I didn't bother to answer for a while. When thinking about it, it seemed a bit amusing to see the bar having a lack of customers, it might just have the loyal ones to stay and we could still gain income. I know a few of the customers enough for them to return. I don't think I'm worried one bit,

"Good luck dealing with her." I said clearly for him to hear. I head to the fridge, instead, I was shoved against the wall. This short guy of a manager pinned me to the wall, holding a thin, sharp to my face. His scowl is intense, it looks like I'm staring down an angry doggy. His fuzzy arms contributing to his image. I was shocked he'd ever pull something like this. He's the same manager that bothered us to go a peaceful route, always break up fights. It never was starting any fights.

"Look here," his tone menacing, bringing the tip of the knife closer to my neck. His weight on the hand placed on my bicep. "You're supposed to maintain the bar _with_ us, not drop it until it's most convenient for you." I can smell his words that are coated with chocolate and whiskey. It's a terrible smell as if it were decaying in his mouth. His narrowed eyes are hooded from the muscles of his brows, the wild hairs of his eyebrows are distracting. Am I really just going to let a tub of puffy dough threaten me with a knife?

"I said," I continue with a calm tone, repeating the motto of being peaceful, in my head. "good luck dealing with her." With that, he jabs into the skin where my jaw meets my neck, the twinge of pain was enough for me to shove his small figure off of me. I rub my neck in disbelief with a sense of confusion. Why would he preach about peace yet cause harm to his co-worker?

He was trying to lift himself up by gripping a towel, but the cloth slipped from its rack and he grumbles with anger. I look to my hand and notice there's more than a smidge of blood. This was getting on my nerves, I press my hand to my neck to avoid making stains on my white collar, it'll take a lot from my paycheck if I get it stained now. 


	8. practice writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without doubt, talented in.

Ever since Wintol could remember, he was always able to soothe plants with the sound of his voice, with a singular touch. He was like a caretaker from Heaven. His parents, which he and his brother could barely remember, were apparently so proud of how they turned out. For the majority of Wintol's and Sandres' lives, they've stuck together in the two first schools they stayed in.

In this world, it's a norm for guardians or parents to allow their offsprings to live at schools. It saves them plenty more cash. The students are allowed to return home at appropriate times as long as they show up to school once again. Wintol and his brother Sandres were one of the best students in their school, they still are today however, they tend to be torn away from each other to spend time with their friends. Their dorms gradually grew distance as either were involved with different activities to challenge their skills. 

Now they're adults off to become a specialist in their desired field. Wintol had obviously taken the route that he knew his parents would be proud of him for. He spent most of his time collecting plants, examining them, forming bonds and taking care of them all for the occupation to aid those in the field of medicine and alchemy. He studies rare plants, makes sure he knows what to provide it in hopes for more to be produced.

He tied back his mildly, curly, orange hair. He didn't mind his shoulder-length hair draping over his work, yet it was a routine and a requirement in the workplace. His delicate hand held onto his pen as it danced away at recording the results, the ink filling the grooves that the tip of the pen had created. He rose his emerald, green eyes to view the plant before him. The plant resting in that flower pot was hunched over, Wintol felt the overwhelming concern building within him.

"Hey..." He softly spoke to the plant. Reaching out to stroke the top of it. The striking red plant raised itself to press its head against Wintol's palm. It made soft whistling sounds, causing Wintol to chuckle, seeing the plant being happy. "It's alright, I'll be done with work in a few minutes." He mumbles to the plant, exploring its oddly leathery shell. The sleeve loosely hugging his arm that's petting the plant is revealing a burnt mark on the side of his forearm. He frowned upon the sight, upset at the memory that comes with it.

"Polurf," Wintol hears behind himself, he swivels around to be faced with his co-worker. She offers him a grey, metallic cube, the edges and corners are rounded off. "Here are some of the reports they got from your observations." Her stern voice was sharp and hurt Wintol's ears, he felt like if he didn't do as she pleased, that her voice alone would torment him physically.

"Thank you..." His voice in contrast to hers is really soft like a breeze of wind. He took the cube that was the size of his own palm, she trotted off to her station and worked on her own report.

Wintol faced his desk, placed the grey cube on the muted, blue markings on the back of his right arm. Once the cube came into contact with the marked skin, it projected a floating paper of light before his eyes. He touched the light, his index felt nothing but the floating screen scrolled in the direction he was moving it in. It consisted of news articles and experiment sessions regarding the plant in question. What caught Wintol's eye was the familiar green eyes and short, reddish-orange hair on the screen. He read through the reports. It seems that, this person has countlessly been the cause of the destruction of many buildings, plants, and plenty of other things. They were also the cause of increased mortality rates.


	9. farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "two besties chill at a farm"

"Here we are!" Rang a masculine, cheery voice. Victor snapped awake at the burst of energy from his voice.

"Wh- what?" Victor's surprise seeps into his tone. "Lewis?" He looks over to his excited friend and later wipes the sleepiness from his eyes.

"We're at the farm," Lewis nods to a large building of desaturated, purple bricks. His dark, shoulder-length dreadlocks swung along with his motions. "come on, I'll show ya how it works." He dismounts from the dark, brown wooden carriage they rode in to get to the farm. Victor tags along with him to the entrance of the purple building.

It stands about twelve feet tall, rusty sheets of what looks like white paper are patched around the building to keep it from crumbling down. The dark grass crunched beneath Victor's black, leather shoes, it felt like stepping on clumps of eggshells. The scent in the air was like burning papers with a mixture of rancid meat. The windows had no glass, inside the building were bulky creatures that were skittering around, faint bells were ringing inside as if a distant town crier was shaking a bug off of a little bell.

"You ready?" Lewis held onto the barn's handle. Victor nodded. When he turned the handle and pushed the large, suspended brick doors open, a wave of heat and musk flooded Victor's nose. He clamped his nose shut while Lewis walks in without being bothered.

"What is that smell??" He demands.

"The smell?" He looks back to his white haired friend. "Oh! Right, the smell is from the Scaorages and their hormones!" His enthusiasm never left as he goes over to the thick, metal fences that keep the large creatures in their place. "Alright, time to start pickin!" He vaults over the fence with ease, carefully stepping on the provided hay towards the large creatures. Victor struggles to climb the fence that is just as tall as himself, he eventually gets over it but gravity brings him slamming onto the ground. He sits up, wincing at the pain.

The creatures before him are as large as horses, both their legs are as big as an ostrich's, yet the skin is scalely like an alligator all along its legs, under its body, neck and chin. The shape of its head is equivalent to a large eagle but with a curved horn on top of its nose. The rest of the Scaorage's body is fuzzy, its soft to the touch. It feels as though it were small tuffs of silk all coloured in black.

Lewis is carefully picking through the thick fur of these dark beings then dropping the flat pellets into a bucket. Each pellet looks as flat as a coin, as dark, green as wilted grass. It clattered together like rocks.

Victor hung a bucket over his arm and dug his fingers into the dark fur. The Scaorage he barely touched, shied away from him. Feeling slightly offended and confused, Victor huffed.

"Vicky,"

"Don't call me that."

"Vicks, just keep looking into their eyes."

"What?" Victor glares at Lewis with annoyance. "I came here just to stare at some eyes when my focus should be on harvesting Keighns."

"Don't pronounce the 'n', it's supposed to sound like 'kays'."

"It doesn't matter!" He scoffs. Yet, Lewis didn't answer as he continues to harvest Keighns from the dark creatures. With that, Victor began looking into the eyes of the Scaorage. It stared back at him, he was feeling immensely disgusted to look at this thing with dark orbs that slightly glistened from the faint lighting of the night. It had no eyelids like a snake, it'd stare at Victor for a long while. He has no idea what to do next, he slowly brings his hands to the fur.

The fur is as soft as it looked, it's malleable. He was met with confusion when he notices he can sink his arm into the fur, it went up to his elbow until he felt something at his hand. He assumes it's the creature's body. He felt something poking at his thumb that's slightly painful. Grabbing it, the Scaorage shifts around with irritation.

"Hold still" Victor grumbles to the creature, as he begins to look at his hand. Lewis notices this and opens his mouth to talk. The Scaorage swings its head around, knocking over Victor. The bucket of his bounces off the paved concrete floor and hits the wall. "What in the world-" He manages to mumble before the entire herd of about 30 Scaorages start shuffling around with agitation.

"Look out!" Lewis starts running over to Victor. When Victor looks around with a disoriented vision, he notices one of the Scaorages about to step onto him with its large, thick leg, it's pointed with talons. He refuses to be stabbed with a foot but he barely was able to muster the energy to move around with his dizziness. He loosely raises his hand, pointing his palm to the Scaorage and mutters a few words.

The Scaorage stomped onto his hand but the thin light that slightly hovers over Victor's palm, held the creature's foot. It ran off to scurry with the others. Victor slowly sits up, then Lewis scoops him up and tosses him over the fence before he climbs it himself.

"OW! What was that for??!" Victor snaps at him, feeling too limp to get up.

"You're lucky you have magic," Lewis' tone seems like it's scolding him. He helps Victor up. "but it won't always save you."

The sounds of rumbles were increasing from the stampede of Scaorages getting riled up. The sound of bells were echoing the farm.

"What is that sound?!!!!" Victor shouts to carry his voice across all the noise. Lewis brings Victor outside the farm, then closes the brick door. The bells and rumbles were less apparent.

"Vic, what did you do when you were harvesting Keighns?" Lewis' normal volume is clear.

"I was doing as planned!" He complains with a scowl. "What are those bells??"

"Nothing bad, just something we put on them so if they run off, we can find them more easily since they are really dark, we wouldn't be able to find them."


End file.
